


come over here and sit next to me

by dirtmemer



Category: Uta no Prince-sama
Genre: Alternate Universe, Cults, M/M, Sex under influence, Unreliable Narrator, Violence, and also masquerade mirage, camus is briefly mentioned, very very light elements taken from joker's trap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-12
Updated: 2019-01-12
Packaged: 2019-10-08 19:15:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17392109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dirtmemer/pseuds/dirtmemer
Summary: What is it about this thief, anyways? Ranmaru has to wonder. What is it about him that has Ranmaru so hungry?





	come over here and sit next to me

**Author's Note:**

> at first i wanted to write a joker's trap and masquerade mirage crossover bu t uhhhhhhhhhh lmao

Ranmaru catches him mid-scuffle, when he's running from something or someone else with blood sliding down one cheek and looking dazed and flushed and drugged up beyond belief. It's a favor, Ranmaru thinks, when he trips the thief up and presses him against a wall. 

"Hi there, big guy," the thief says. He's breathing hard. He's in no condition to keep running. They both know it, so the thief stays still and lets Ranmaru press up against him without any struggle. He doesn't tense when voices and urgent footsteps approach, but it's a close thing. 

For a moment the look in his eyes is wild— something like a cornered animal ready to fight back with its dying breath. Ranmaru is almost ready for another fight, until the thief tugs him down and kisses him, tongue and all. Ranmaru would make a surprised noise, but he's also a professional, so he doesn't make any noises, and lets the thief suck on his tongue enthusiastically until the voices and footsteps fade into the distance. 

"I know you're trying to catch me," the thief whispers, and licks a line up Ranmaru's jaw. "I don't mind. Not when it's someone as hot as you." 

The thief hooks a leg around Ranmaru's hip. "You should show me a good time before knocking me out, at least," he murmurs. His voice is soft and sweet. He looks soft and sweet, deceptively pretty, with his big wide eyes and pouty mouth. 

Ranmaru looks at him and wonders if he'll have time for dinner after this. Maybe he can cook something today. The thief kisses his cheek, and smiles. He says, sweetly, "Don't look so bored, Kurosaki Ranmaru." 

It's a reflex when Ranmaru backhands him. The thief sprawls onto the floor, and he laughs and laughs and spits out blood. It drips down his pretty mouth, and for a moment Ranmaru feels— something. The thief smiles up at him, like he can see through Ranmaru's expression. 

There's a moment where something burns in Ranmaru's chest— bright and hateful. He wants to demand the thief tell him how he _knows_. He wants to shake the thief up. He wants the thief to kiss him again. All of this is making his head hurt. 

Ranmaru takes a deep, calming breath. Then he clocks the thief over his head and goes to collect his limp body. 

 

*

 

Ranmaru's job is to catch the thief for the organization— something about the intel he stole, Ranmaru doesn't remember because he tuned Camus out and then he tuned Toki out and he doesn't ever listen to Ren. The thief has his hands lashed in front of him with the strongest wirecore rope Ranmaru has, unconscious in the front seat of Ranmaru's car. He's so pretty when he's not being actively antagonizing. Ranmaru stares at his face, then regrets staring at his face. 

It's stupid. Ranmaru's head hurts from thinking so much. He doesn't remember a thing from before the organization except his name— two words, seven syllables, doesn't know anyone who remembers anything. And this thief knows him. Knows his real name. Maybe knows more than his real name. 

The thief looks sweeter when he's unconscious. He looks young. He looks tired. Ranmaru grits his teeth together and steps on the gas. 

All and any members of the organization have their own hideouts, hidden from everyone else. It's a safe place, free from any danger except the ones they invite into their spaces, freely. When Ranmaru carries the thief into his spare apartment, he feels like he's inviting something dangerous into his life. It doesn't really matter. A job is a job, and Ranmaru just needs to wait it out until the organization clears his route of passage. Then the thief will be out of his life. For good. 

Ranmaru strips the thief briskly, removes all his weapons and stashes them somewhere hidden. Ranmaru replaces his clothes with one of his own shirts. It's too big. It looks good, maybe. Ranmaru feels like he shouldn't have any opinion on this, but here he is— staring at the thief's slim thighs. 

He bites his tongue. The thief stays unconscious on his couch. He cooks dinner. The thief wakes up when Ranmaru goes to check his pupils. They're still dilated, blown wide with whatever drug they've given him. 

The thief doesn't miss a beat. He sucks Ranmaru's thumb into his mouth and whines. Ranmaru extracts his thumb from the thief's mouth, wipes it on the thief's chin and offers him a plate of rice. 

The thief sulks for a while after that. He looks ruffled and confused, trying to balance his plate on his knees and his spoon with his tied together hands. Whatever. It's not Ranmaru's problem. 

It's not Ranmaru's problem when the thief tells him: "It's an aphrodisiac," either. Especially not when the thief says, "It's strong! It won't wear off so quickly," and then "Please, oh my god, _please_." 

Ranmaru picks up the half-cleared plate of rice. What a waste of his food. He eats the leftovers, leaning against the sink while the thief begs and moans and squirms. He washes the dishes. The thief's voice trails off into incomprehensible slurring. 

"Please," the thief says. Ranmaru drapes a blanket over his narrow shoulders, ruffles his silky hair a little condescendingly, and goes to sleep on his futon. 

 

*

 

Ranmaru sleeps in shifts. It's a habit that was hammered into him in during his training, and he wakes up to the sound of his guest touching himself. 

Ranmaru cracks an eye open and watches the way the thief spreads his legs and writhes against his couch— boxers kicked off and Ranmaru's shirt slipping up his thighs— and Ranmaru has to wonder about how many times he's cum in the past few hours, while Ranmaru was asleep. 

The thief notices that Ranmaru's awake. Of course he does. He notices and he watches Ranmaru and he licks his lips like he's hungry. It's been a long fucking time since anyone's looked at Ranmaru like this— like he's _prey_. Can't say he misses it, but it's pretty cute. 

"Kurosaki Ranmaru," the thief sighs. Ranmaru can't help his twitch. The thief's eyes narrow, his mouth curling up into a slow smile. "Not curious about how I know your name?" 

Ranmaru doesn't talk to his targets. It's the first rule, the most important rule. There are a lot of other rules, but this is the one everyone follows. Ranmaru doesn't talk to his targets, and he doesn't fuck any of his targets, and when the organization asks him to kill his targets he does, no questions asked. But then the thief reaches between his legs and moans, "Ranmaru," so sweetly— three syllables, his first name, something only he should know, and— 

Ranmaru shakes his head. His ears are burning like he's a teenager fumbling with a porno and his dick. It's stupid, and it's pathetic, and Ranmaru really wants to wring the thief's pretty neck. 

"Then do it," the thief says, smiling smiling smiling, and Ranmaru finally realizes that he's said it out loud. He's broken the rule. He's broken the first ever rule given to him— the one that everyone in the organization has to follow, and he's _broken_ it. For a stupid pretty thief and his _sly fucking mouth_. 

Things are going awful. Ranmaru's as good as dead, now. Camus is going to laugh over his fucking corpse. Ranmaru's head hurts and the thief is touching himself slowly on Ranmaru's couch and Ranmaru wants to fuck him senseless in a blind fury. 

It's a cat and mouse game, except there's never been a mouse, just two cats pawing at each other. Ranmaru's a dead man walking— he broke the rule and the thief knows his name— the organization will never let him live. Might as well, he thinks. Might as well go out with a few good nights on his belt. 

The thief squirms. He squirms and he laughs like he knows he has Ranmaru between his teeth, and for once it isn't the cold, clinical feeling of a job well done in Ranmaru's chest but a hot burning anger that makes him yank the thief up by his hair and kiss him, scrambling and furious. Ranmaru bites the thief's mouth, tipping him backwards until he's crouching over his gorgeous target. It's a good thing they're both hungry. His hands scrabble at Ranmaru's chest, catching on his shirt almost desperately. 

The thief's thighs are slick with sweat. He stinks of sex. He plays calm, plays his cards like he isn't desperate to jump on Ranmaru's dick, like he isn't stupid for sex. Every single curve to him is beautiful, every clean line— Ranmaru sinks his teeth into the meat of his thief's shoulder and tastes blood sweet on his tongue, and his pretty thief cries out in something like delight. 

If Ranmaru's gonna spill blood over this— if this ends up in his corpse strewn in a dump somewhere— and it will, most probably— he's seen people killed for less— he thinks, he says, as he pushes his sweatpants down his hips, "This better be the best goddamn fuck of my life." 

 

*

 

Ranmaru has to carry him to the kitchen when they realize desperation and spit doesn't really account for lube. Ranmaru feels his stare when he leans over the counter to get the olive oil, turns around to meet his thief's shameless ogling head on. His smile is guileless, a little more than dazed, his lips red from choking himself on Ranmaru's dick. A streak of cum drips down his chin. He looks filthy. He looks beautiful. 

He bends over almost eagerly, when Ranmaru turns him on his belly. The kitchen counter isn't the best place for fucking, but they're taking what they can get. Ranmaru fits two fingers in his pretty thief, and then three, and his thief cries and moans and screams his name in lilts. _Ran-ma-ru_ , and then _Ranmaru_ , and then a stream of _ran ran ran ran ran_ that eventually dissolves into _please please yes oh my god oh my god_! 

Ranmaru pushes in and his thief shudders, shoulders flexing under Ranmaru's palm. He cums quick, trembles and shivers and nearly slides off Ranmaru's cock to collapse onto his knees, but Ranmaru holds him up. Ranmaru holds him up and fucks him mean and doesn't let him escape, and he presses his mouth against his ear and says: "Stay still now, good boy, there's nowhere for you to run," until his thief stops wriggling around and lets Ranmaru fuck into his pliant body. 

He's so hot. He's so hot and tight and perfect, Ranmaru thinks— he whines so cute when Ranmaru pumps his dick in his rough fist, thumbing at the tip— Ranmaru watches his thief cum again on his fingers and tongue, and it's a whole new experience. Ranmaru fits so easy between his legs, between his sweet thighs and up against his tight ass, and he's so stunningly shameless when he moans things like "You're so big," and "Please fuck me forever," that it's almost a surprise. 

He sobs Ranmaru's name. It's pretty on his tongue, out of his mouth. Ranmaru watches him strain to brace himself on his arms, watches him struggle to stay on his feet, feeling drunk out of his mind with pleasure. The wire rope around his thief's wrists is rubbing his skin raw. He looks ruined. He looks like Ranmaru's ruined him— he looks like something Ranmaru can keep. 

"Good boy," Ranmaru finds himself saying, condescending, tugging on his thief's stupid half-tied ponytail. "Good boy, you're so good for me, you're so _pathetic_." Ranmaru rubs his palm down his thief's belly, presses down hard, and he wails, shuddering so intensely he nearly slips off the counter. Ranmaru catches him, presses his thin back against his own chest, fucking up into him desperately until his thief threads his fingers through Ranmaru's and turns his head to smile at him so dazedly, so stupidly, and Ranmaru's hips stutter through his last few thrusts as he cums inside. 

Ranmaru kisses the soft meat of his thief's shoulder, turns it into a bite. He's so fucking pathetic and cute. If Ranmaru knew him at all— Ranmaru thinks his life would have been, maybe— he would have worshipped his pretty little thief, from the tips of his silky hair to the ends of his toes. He wonders what would have happened to make him forget. He wonders if he really _did_ forget— what in the hell _happened_ to him that he would forget someone so—

His thief makes a wet little noise, seizing up in little twitches, and passes out in a dead faint.

As it turns out, it really has been the best goddamn fuck in Ranmaru's entire life. 

 

*

 

The thief sleeps well into the next morning. He doesn't stir when Ranmaru bathes him and fingers the cum out of his ass; he doesn't move when Ranmaru dresses him and unties and reties his wrists together; he doesn't bat an eyelash when Ranmaru tends to his scrapes and scratches; he doesn't even twitch his pretty fingers when Ranmaru scrubs and disinfects the kitchen furiously, wretchedly. 

They're all fucked. They're all fucked seven ways to hell— he doesn't know _what_ the organization wants with his thief and Ranmaru's penance will be his blood, and he won't get an honorable death in the line of his work but a traitor's shot to the head, just—

Ranmaru breathes. He breathes and he unclenches his fists from around the cloth he's holding. Camus is going to be such a bitch about this. 

It's his own fault. There's no way around this. He was careless— slipped up too easy. He took his pleasure from a target, he knew it was wrong, he knew it was a death sentence— but that's what he chose, that's the hill he'll die on. He wrings his cloth dry, ashamed, and wipes down the kitchen counter for the fifth time, thinking about the way his thief's voice sounds shaping out his name, _Ku-ro-sa-ki Ran-ma-ru_ , and wonders if he'll at least give Ranmaru the courtesy of keeping quiet. 

During his tenth round of furious cleaning, the thief wakes up to watch him— groggy, quiet. Ranmaru goes to check his pupils. This time they're normal— the drug's worn off. Maybe he'll be quiet, and Ranmaru can go back to ignoring him. 

Ranmaru makes breakfast. He offers the thief a plate, gives him a glass of water and shows him where to get more, if he wants, and goes back to scrubbing various kitchen surfaces. The thief eats quietly, awkwardly, drinks his water and sidles over to the kitchen to put his dishes into the sink. 

"Did you know," his pretty thief says, standing there in Ranmaru's shirt and nothing else, his wrists crossed neatly in front of him, and he says, "Did you know that your organization is a cult?" 

Ranmaru drops his sponge. He drops his sponge and coughs out a bitter laugh, and he says, "No." 

His thief sighs, so sadly. He drops his warm fingers to Ranmaru's wrist, and he says, "How's the scar on your back?" He still sounds so sad. So pitying. The look on his face— his eyes are wide with pity. Like Ranmaru should be _pitied_ , like some pathetic wounded animal.

Ranmaru's frozen there for a few seconds, with the thief's fingers on his skin. He shouldn't— _no one_ should have seen his back— no one should _know_ — _no one should_ — 

Ranmaru headbutts him for his trouble. The thief staggers back. When he lets go of Ranmaru's wrist, Ranmaru almost misses the touch of his fingers. 

"Listen to me," the thief hisses. He's angry now, his pouty mouth pulled into a grimace. The heat of his glare is _beautiful_ — a guy could really get used to that glare. "Listen to me, Kurosaki Ranmaru." 

Ranmaru can never get used to that. 

His thief draws himself up to his full height. It's still a few inches shorter than Ranmaru, but taller than what people would expect from such a thin frame. Ranmaru watches him and asks, "Did you know me?" 

The thief softens in seconds. He's so soft, so sweet. Still so young. So easily distracted. He says, "Oh, Ranmaru," full of misplaced pity, and he comes up to cradle Ranmaru's face between his lashed together hands. "You were so young." 

Somehow, that makes Ranmaru reach back to touch the raised welt on the skin of his lower back. A memory of pain. A reminder of the punishment that would follow after any wrongdoings. They cut his back open at first, the first warning— _follow orders and maybe you'll live_ — then they cut along the line of scar tissue for any further trespasses. His line covers almost half his back. Some would say it makes him a failure. His thief's pity makes his blood _boil_. No one knows him— he's unknown, a mystery, not even a blip on the radar— and this, this fucking— _criminal_ , he's telling Ranmaru things he doesn't know, doesn't remember, doesn't _need_ —

"I don't," Ranmaru tells him, and takes vindictive pleasure in the way the thief blinks up at him, confused. "I don't remember you. I don't fucking remember ever seeing your face. I don't know who you are, and I don't _care_." 

"Ranmaru," he says, softly. Still sad. Still pitying. Ranmaru shoves his hand around the thief's neck and squeezes until he chokes. The thief is skinny enough that Ranmaru can almost lift him clean off the ground. 

"You don't know me," Ranmaru spits. It's a warning. "You don't _know_ me." 

Ranmaru lets go. The thief crumples onto the floor, a disgraceful pile of flesh and bone and blood, wheezing and gasping for breath. Maybe the organization will kill him too. Maybe their bodies will be dumped together. Ranmaru kicks him in the ribs for good measure. 

That would be nice. Less lonely. Ranmaru leaves him there in the kitchen and goes to the living room for a smoke, and resolves to never listen to the thief's yapping ever again. 

 

*

 

His resolve is broken within seconds. 

Now that the thief's caught him once, he seems to think he has free reign to bother Ranmaru with every passing minute. He asks questions, perching on Ranmaru's lap like Ranmaru didn't strangle him just a few moments earlier, things like _do you have friends_ and _do you have a lot of sex because you're really good at it_ and _do you remember your first day at your cult organization_ and _did you kill a lot of people_ and _you really don't remember me_? 

"No," Ranmaru snaps, frustration getting the better of him. The brat laughs— fucking _disrespectful_ , and starts rubbing his cheek against Ranmaru's shoulder, sweet as anything. 

"No to all of my questions?" he says, bright and cheery. Ranmaru wants him to shut up. Ranmaru closes his eyes, suppresses a sigh, and the thief crows with laughter. His delight leaves a sour taste in Ranmaru's mouth. They're both trying too hard. 

Ranmaru doesn't answer. He tips the brat off his lap onto the floor— no use, the thief just clambers back up and sits on Ranmaru again. This time, he says, "They'll kill you." 

Ranmaru isn't impressed. It's not a hard deduction to make. "Yeah, and?" 

"And I don't think you deserve death," he says, all horribly soft eyes, all sad and quiet— and he _dares_ to even _think_ that he has that kind of power over Ranmaru— that he _deserves_ to have that hold on Ranmaru's _life_ —

Ranmaru, who's been very good about keeping his temper in check, promptly loses it. He's on his feet in seconds, slaps the thief so hard they both lose balance— can't help it, _can't help it_ — the thief leaves him breathless with fury and he can't control the way his hands shake— he's so goddamned _ashamed_ of himself, he's so _disgraceful_ — 

Ranmaru has always been too much. Too angry, too reckless, too wild to be controlled. The length of his scar speaks volumes. The thief reads some hidden meaning off Ranmaru's expression, and his soft eyes go even softer. 

"Oh, Ranmaru," he breathes. He's so sweet when he kisses Ranmaru's mouth, his cheek bruised purple-yellow. Ranmaru inhales, exhales, desperate shallow gasps, and his thief cups his face gently and says, sounding so grieved, he says, "What have they done to you?" 

Ranmaru says, "Shut up. Shut up! You don't know anything— you don't know what you're saying— you don't—" and somehow it sounds jagged and wretched and miserable. Like Ranmaru is unsure of himself. Maybe he is. He bows his head and grits his teeth like it'll help, and it _doesn't_. 

"Ranmaru," his thief says, "Ranmaru. Listen. I'll tell you what I know, okay? You know they want me for intel. You know I know things you don't. So listen to me." 

"You don't— I don't—" 

"Shh," he says, kissing along Ranmaru's jaw sweetly. Gentle. "Shh, shh. Listen to me, okay?" 

Ranmaru staggers back, blindly. The backs of his knees hit the couch. He goes down, his thief follows. Ranmaru holds his thief against him, holds him tight and close. He hides his face in silky hair, and his thief sits in his lap and kisses his throat. 

"You've been brainwashed," his thief says. "Your memories have been wiped. You've been taken from your family, your friends. You've been made to kill for people you don't care about." 

"No," Ranmaru says, "No, no, no no no that's— you're _lying_ —" 

"You've been punished for being yourself," his thief presses on. He talks fast, urgent. "The scar on your back— how old were you when they gave it to you? You realize normal people don't do that? This psycho cult— you were a kid, weren't you? You were a kid and they made you believe that you were— that you _are_ expendable. Disposable once you've served your purpose." 

" _No_ ," Ranmaru chokes out. What use is all of this— he doesn't want to know anything— doesn't need to— he just wants to do his job and get his penance and then he'll be dead, anyways, what fucking _use_ is _any of this_? 

"Shh," his thief says. Ranmaru's hands are around his neck. "Shh," he says, and Ranmaru's grip slacks, "shh, shh, it's okay," he soothes, and he kisses Ranmaru's mouth and down his throat and dips his pretty, unsympathetic head down to lick at Ranmaru's dick. Ranmaru tips his head back and fucks his thief's wet mouth, his tight throat. 

His thief is so good for him, so pliant. His mouth is so perfect. His chest hitches, pressed against the side of Ranmaru's thigh. Ranmaru hates him. Ranmaru hates himself. When he cums, his pretty thief chokes and swallows, his throat constricting around Ranmaru's dick, and for a blinding moment Ranmaru is able to forget every single blasphemous thing he's said. 

The thief is his death. Ranmaru watches him catch his breath, his mouth wet and shiny, as he rests his cheek in Ranmaru's lap and blinks away the wetness in his eyes. Ranmaru looks his death in his eyes. He wouldn't accept any less. He has his hands on narrow shoulders— this brat, this fucking _horror_ — he's _ruined_ Ranmaru's _life_. 

That night, they sleep curled up in each other's arms. 

 

*

 

They wake up. The thief begs him with the lines of his body, his expressive eyes, his pouty mouth. Sex-crazed, pretty little thing— they're both doomed anyways. Ranmaru unties him and licks the red around his wrists and fishes out a bottle of lube stashed somewhere deep in his closet, and they fuck. 

They fuck on the couch. They fuck on Ranmaru's futon. They fuck against the wall. Ranmaru has him on his knees, on his back, on his side. His ass is tight and his voice is sweet, and Ranmaru fucks him stupid, until he cries, until he throws his head back, exposes his throat, shivering so hard Ranmaru has to hold him down. Ranmaru licks the tears from his gorgeous face, licks all the bruises on his thin body, and they stay tangled together until they get hungry for another round. His thief cuddles up to him, saccharine and demanding Ranmaru's touch. He's so fucked in the head— what is it about this thief anyways? What is it about him that leaves Ranmaru so hungry? They tear into each other, nothing but carnal desires— but then his thief looks at Ranmaru with an uncomfortably loving expression, and it pisses him off _so badly_ that Ranmaru bends him over and eats him out until he screams. 

Ranmaru feels like every single brain cell he has has been poured out of his dick. His thief kisses him soft, gentle, even though Ranmaru wrings his neck and licks him up and stretches him wide— his thief takes takes takes and begs for more— unholy fucking _brat_. They're doomed but at least they'll be doomed together. 

Ranmaru goes so _stupid_ with pleasure that he doesn't even hear his door getting ripped off its frame. He's balls deep in his thief's tight ass and shaky with orgasm when he's yanked clean off the brat, a gun to the back of his head. Someone hisses, "Einsatz what the _fuck_ do you think you're _doing_?" while Ranmaru is preoccupied with the fucking gun knocking against his skull. 

His thief says, "Reiji, no!" and Ranmaru takes a swing, knocks the gun away, and gets flipped over his head easy as anything for his trouble. He lands on his back, hard, knocking the wind out of his lungs. A knife is pressed to his throat. There is blood. The other guy— Reiji, or whoever, nondescript salaryman looking fuck— he digs his knee into Ranmaru's ribs and doesn't even give a shit that Ranmaru has his wet dick hanging out. This is so fucking embarrassing. Ranmaru's face burns. 

"Reiji!" His thief says again. Reiji called him— Einsatz, was it— he tugs on Reiji's shoulders, naked as hell, and— fuck, Ranmaru's cum drips down the inside of his thighs— fucking _hell_ —

"You run off," Reiji says, not letting up in the slightest, "You run off and then you disappear and I track you here and what? You're fucking your kidnapper? Is that what I'm seeing?" 

"To be fair," his thief says, smiling charmingly, "I was drugged when he caught me and Satsuki was trying to kill me, so I let him take me away. And we talked for a bit, didn't we, Ranmaru? We've come to terms with a lot of things, and he's decided that he can't live without me." 

Reiji makes a noise that could be described as infuriated. The knife digs a little deeper into Ranmaru's skin. "I told you I was dealing with Satsuki! You're trying to play this game with me, Einsatz? You're really trying to convince me that you want to take this brainwashed cult spy home?" 

His thief pouts. "Please? Also that code name is really stupid. I don't like it." 

There are a few tense seconds of silence. Then Reiji heaves a sigh, and lets up. Ranmaru flops to his side and wheezes through the pain of being treated like a goddamn cushion, and his thief pets his hair. 

"Ranmaru, was it?" Reiji says. 

"Go to hell," Ranmaru snaps. It comes out as a pathetic hiss. 

Reiji clicks his tongue, visibly annoyed. "You're lucky he likes you, kid, because I would have shot your brains out the moment you laid your filthy fucking hands on him." 

His thief laughs. His confidence is damnably beautiful. "Excuse my brother, he's overprotective and slightly overworked. Reiji, get us some clothes!" 

Ranmaru is stiff with shock. It's been two days, and his thief has ruined him completely. He's been _tracked_. He's been discovered— exposed. There's nowhere for him to go, now. He's a _failure_ — the organization won't even waste a stray bullet on him, now. 

"What are you going to do to me," Ranmaru whispers. His voice is hoarse. 

Ranmaru's pretty little life-ruiner braids his bright hair in quick movements. Reiji hovers behind him like a shadow. His thief smiles at Ranmaru. Reiji doesn't. Reiji looks at Ranmaru like he wants to pick Ranmaru's bones clean. 

"You're mine now," his thief— not Einsatz, says. Reiji snorts. Within minutes he's dismantled Ranmaru's hiding spots, all of their weapons are laid out, their clothes, Ranmaru's extra supplies. He dresses quick, nudges for Ranmaru to do the same. Numbly, Ranmaru put his clothes on, and when his thief kisses him he can only look on in dumb wonder. 

How— how did this even happen? Two days. Not even two— barely a day and a half. A handful of conversations. Reiji hands Ranmaru a single knife and an empty gun. They won't even arm him. What— what is he supposed to _do_? 

"Come on," his thief says, Ranmaru's wrist in his thin fingers. Einsatz— it is kind of a stupid code name— Ranmaru doesn't even know his _goddamned name_. 

"Wait," Ranmaru says. "Wait. What— what's your name?" 

His thief blinks at him, wide soft eyes. He smiles again. This time, Reiji's cold stare softens, too. 

"My name is Ai," his thief says. Soft. 

Ai. Ranmaru turns it over on his tongue. It's pretty. One soft syllable. Ai— like love. Ranmaru has no choice, now, does he? He has no choice— nowhere to go— only one person to follow. His thief— Ai, he has Ranmaru in his keeping. 

Ai tugs on his wrist. Ranmaru can't do anything else but follow. It's— it's something. It's a lot of things. But— whatever. Ranmaru takes whatever road he gets. And he's always hated working with Camus, anyways.

**Author's Note:**

> no matter which universe they're in camus remains a solid bitch


End file.
